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He was safe with Harry, so he surrendered to the darkness where there was no pain.
* * *
Asher was being carriedin big strong arms, a familiar scent with saltwater and the sound of seagulls.
Then he was on a boat, down in the belly with the sound of engines, of water churning. The smell of livestock cloyed in his throat, but there was a big warm body beside him, strong arm around him, measured breaths, and murmured words of reassurance.
Asher came to again when he was being moved. Harry was carrying him once more. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. “Harry,” he struggled. Everything hurt so damn much.
“I got you, baby,” he replied. “Just going on a little ride in a truck. It’s all okay.”
And it was. He was with Harry. That was all he needed to know.
* * *
The next timeAsher woke up, he still couldn’t see. But he felt cold things on his face and he tried to remove them. A hand on his wrist stopped him. “Hey,” Harry murmured. “It’s to help with the swelling.”
Asher tried to speak, but his mouth felt like the Arabian Desert. “Water?”
Harry put a straw to his lips. “Sip on this.”
That water was the wettest, bestest water he’d ever had.
“Where are we?”
“Pakistan, near the Iranian border. We crossed the gulf to Gwadar, and we were taken to a small town near the border. Four organised it all. There’s a lady here who’s tending to your injuries. Are you hungry? You must be. Let me get you something soft. How’s your jaw? Asher, I was so worried. Christ, when I found out it was them who took you—”
“Harry,” Asher murmured.
“Yes.”
Asher held up his hand. “Hold my hand.”
“Okay.” Harry’s warm fingers wrapped around Asher’s, and Asher felt an immediate sense of relief, of calm.
And he slept.
* * *
Asher had lostall sense of time. The only gauge he had of night or day was the temperature. Whatever was in those strips of fabric he often woke to find plastered on his face were working because he could open his eyes a little.
His ribs made any kind of movement painful, and it made sleeping fitful at best. He didn’t need X-rays to tell him things were broken in there. How many ribs, he could only guess. It felt like all of them, on both sides, but his right side was worse. His jaw hurt, he’d lost one molar and another one was wobbly, and he couldn’t open his mouth too wide, but he didn’t think his jaw was broken.
His hands and arms were bruised and cut, though he had no recollection of how. Being grabbed and struggling, probably. He had some very suspicious bruises in the shape of fingers that made Harry seethe every time he saw them.
Harry.
Harry had been an absolute saviour. An angel. Soft whispers, gentle touches, and always willing to hold Asher’s hand when he needed it.
And he did need it.
Maybe for the first time in his life, he needed someone. And now he had someone—also a first—who was by his side, willingly. Someone to care for him, look after him, tend to him. He gave him sips of water; he mashed up his food and fed it to him. He gave him those pain pills he’d been taking for his ankle, which Asher had to admit, were a blessing.
The pills helped with the cracking headache he had too. It was probably just as well he couldn’t see for three days. Though the room he found himself in was small, it was blissfully dark.
On day three, he managed to stand, with Harry’s help of course. And he managed to piss by himself, which was a nice change. Not that he’d ever complain about Harry ever touching his dick, but the thought of doing anything likethatmade Asher want to curl up in a ball and cry.
Except physically curling up into a ball would almost kill him as well, and even the tears would probably hurt his still swollen eyes.
